


Armor

by Sed



Series: Across Enemy Lines [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Oral Sex, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 09:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: Saurfang joins Anduin in Stormwind Keep to begin planning their next move against Sylvanas.





	Armor

**Author's Note:**

> **Update, 12/11/2018:** Well, it happened pretty much exactly as I predicted. Blizzard went with the most boring option (in my opinion) for Saurfang's story in 8.1. Not that I really held out any serious hope for an orc in blue, but it would have been nice. I'm still going to continue this series, but I've marked this fic a canon-divergent AU, and I'll be proceeding with my own version of how things _could_ have gone from this point.

Saurfang hesitated at the open door. He watched the boy as he walked away, his head held high and not so much as a glance over his shoulder to ensure that he was being followed. His confidence was admirable—and unearned. The young human was brave, but he was no soldier. Not yet. He couldn’t even hide the slight hitch in his step. Saurfang still remembered the ease with which he had put the young king on the ground, armor and all. That their second encounter ended so differently had little to do with skill; he could admit that much to himself. He had been prepared to die that day, and in truth he had even relished it. His end at the hands of the enemy. It was what he wanted. What he had _earned_ , for his victories and his failures.

His time spent locked in a cage following his defeat had provided him the opportunity to reflect on all that had happened that day. For weeks following his capture he had cursed the boy—the _king_ , who had denied him his death in battle. Some weak sentimentality, or perhaps even a debt he felt was owed to his dead father, had stayed the boy’s hand. Over time that fury had slowly faded, cooling steadily until it was nothing more than an ember in a dark room. It was then that the door to his cell had been opened, and the instrument of his ignoble defeat stood before him, demanding answers.

It was almost amusing. Saurfang had thought of breaking his neck. He had also considered taking _him_ prisoner, and holding him until enough of the guards arrived to present a challenge. A fighting death on the floor of a prison cell was preferable to wasting away, becoming food for the vermin.

But that boy. _Anduin_. It was strange to even think the name; too personal, too… soft. Like pale human skin beneath his lips, his fingertips, sweating and trembling under him. Saurfang hadn’t expected anything to come of the king’s visit to his cell, but he listened, and he watched. It was the first touch that had surprised him and let slip some of his despair. The touch and then those eyes. Plaintive and brimming with useless emotion, but also a fierce determination that was so compelling, so mesmerizing, that he found himself trapped. Turning away had been the only cure for his sudden and foolish fascination.

If only it had ended there.

It had been mere minutes since he had felt the young king’s tight heat around him, buried his face in that soft hair and breathed in his scent as he came; Anduin had begged him to do it, “ _Deep_ ,” he had pleaded, and already lost, Saurfang had obliged without hesitation.

His blood ran hot at the memory of it. He longed to close the distance between them and take the frail human in his arms again—take _him_ again. It had been so long since he allowed himself the simple pleasure of a bedmate; too long since he had allowed himself any pleasure at all. But with the little king... There was more to it than mere satisfaction, he had realized too late, and _that_ complicated matters significantly.

They rounded a corner, coming out of the otherwise empty hall, at the end of which had been Saurfang’s cage. This block of cells was occupied, filled not with prisoners of war, but common criminals. As the king approached the second cell the long, dark snout of a Gilnean dog slipped out between the bars.

“Your Grace,” the beast mocked. “What brings you down to our—”

Saurfang slowed to listen to the one-sided exchange. Up ahead the king had stopped, and in the cell the Gilnean began to excitedly sniff at the air, lifting his wet nose to catch some curious scent. He angled his face through the bars to peer at Saurfang with one gold eye. “Well then,” he laughed, turning back to the king with a long, lecherous grin. “Is that all I’d have to do to get out of here?”

The dog’s throat was in Saurfang’s hand before he could make a sound. The only question that remained was whether to smash his head against the bars until there was nothing left but a smear of fur, blood, and bone, or snap his fool neck and leave him there for the guards to find. Saurfang squeezed, drawing a fearful yelp; claws scrabbled at his fingers, pulling desperately at his wrist, but they grew weaker by the second. He leaned in close to the Gilnean and snarled, “You will not touch what is _mine_.” Let the mongrel’s last moments be filled with the knowledge that his presumption had cost him his waste of a life.

“Saurfang, no!” Anduin shouted. He reached into the cell and added his own hands to the frantic struggle for freedom. Shocked, Saurfang withdrew. He stepped back, his chest heaving with the effort to restrain his fury, his arms dripping with blood.

The Gilnean had collapsed, gasping for air and still holding his own throat. A quick flash of Light lit the small space and the sounds of distress abruptly stopped.

“You’ll be fine,” the king said to the Gilnean. He left the cell door and came over to stand before Saurfang, staring up at him defiantly. “What were you thinking?” he demanded in a low whisper.

“You would let him defile you?”

“He wasn’t going to—” He stopped, sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’ll return to the keep. There won’t be anyone to interrupt our work there, and perhaps you won’t be tempted to kill anyone. Just to be safe I’ll dismiss the guards from that wing.” His gaze dropped to Saurfang’s arms, and he frowned at the deep red furrows in his skin. “I’ll heal your wounds, as well.”

Compassion. A weakness that the young king somehow wielded to greater effect than any sword. Saurfang reached down to lift Anduin’s chin with his fingertip; a gesture that had quickly come to mean something more between them, though he couldn’t say how. “I will have you again when our work is through, Your Majesty,” he said quietly.

Anduin’s cheeks flushed dark and he quickly looked away. He worried at one of his soft, pink lips with his teeth. Saurfang noted with a satisfied smirk that although he hadn’t accepted the offer, he hadn’t refused it, either.

“I also have rather sensitive _hearing_ ,” the worgen muttered miserably from his cell, “if you wouldn’t mind waiting until you’re outside to discuss the rest of that.”

 

 

Stormwind Keep was built well and sturdy, that much Saurfang had known already, but what surprised him was the unnecessary opulence he found upon entering. At every turn the walls were hung with decorative tapestries, lined with shelves full of tomes containing knowledge from all corners of Azeroth and beyond, and set with ornate gold sconces. It looked more like a goblin’s vault than the stronghold of a powerful commander. Plundering the keep alone would take an army days.

The guards eyed him, sizing him up and no doubt quickly realizing their chances of defeating him were slim at best, even unarmed. Every so often the king waved a hand to dismiss one as he passed, and they scurried away, disappearing like roaches fleeing for the safety of the shadows. He couldn’t help but smirk at their cowardice. He had cut down hundreds of nameless Alliance soldiers, and these men and women would fare no better if they challenged him.

“Try not to terrify all of my guards,” the king said under his breath. “You may not appreciate their presence, but they are what stands between you and the assassins Sylvanas will no doubt send once she learns of your defection.”

“Give me a weapon and I’ll defend myself,” Saurfang answered without hesitation. _Assassins_. He knew every filthy cutthroat the Banshee Queen had at her disposal, and he would not fall to their blades, guards or no guards.

“I think arming you while you’re within the keep would be a mistake. For now.”

Saurfang’s snort was loud enough to echo off the stone walls around them.

“Some may think an orc in Stormwind is already too great a risk,” Anduin explained. “I would rather not give them cause to assume you mean harm. They will undoubtedly invent their own, anyway.”

There was no point explaining that he didn’t need to be armed in order to kill; he was sure the king knew that, and he was simply choosing to ignore it.

They soon arrived at a large wooden door, banded with iron and set into a shallow recess in the wall. “These will be your chambers for the time being,” Anduin said. “You’ll find your armor inside, as well as any supplies you may need to tend it. If you require anything more, you need only ask the stewards.” There was a pause, during which Anduin cleared his throat. “My own chambers are just up that way.” He pointed to a nearby turn in the corridor. “If you—that is, if you need to speak to me for any reason.”

Saurfang chuckled at the vague invitation. He burned for the human in a way he hadn’t since his beloved mate had died on Draenor, and the intensity of it was almost unsettling. Had he been a younger man he might have relished the hunt before he claimed his prize. But he was too old now for subtlety and games, and they were on borrowed time. “Would you prefer I take you here, or in your own rooms?” he asked.

The shock that lit the king’s beautiful face was delightful; he sputtered, opening and closing his mouth several times before he managed to blurt out, “No, I—I should go.”

“We have battles to plan, little king,” Saurfang reminded him.

“I’ve already sent for King Greymane and Mathias Shaw. Once they arrive we can begin planning our next offensive.” Anduin inclined his head in the direction of the closed door. “In the meantime, I’ve had a hot bath prepared for you.”

Lifting one arm to sniff himself, Saurfang huffed and said, “I have no need of a bath. There are better ways to pass our time before your pet dog and spymaster arrive.”

Anduin closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “Genn’s arrival is precisely the problem,” he said. He leaned past Saurfang and pulled the latch to open the door. “The incident in the Stockade has made that painfully clear. If you wish to make any progress at all during the meeting, I advise you use the bath.”

 

 

Greymane had been hesitant, clearly wary of trusting an orc—or any member of the Horde—and unafraid to share his many opinions regarding their unlikely collaboration. The meeting had been little more than a brief and a chance to share what few strategies they could contrive between them, and it had ended in less time than it had taken to form. Eventually Greymane yielded to the high king’s authority, and some progress had been made, but it was negligible. Even with with information Saurfang could provide, it would take more than two Alliance kings, a defector, and a spy to face Sylvanas’ forces head on and win.

Vague proposals were made, and rejected, and all the while Greymane had watched him, his sharp eyes narrowed and attentive to every movement Saurfang made. Unlike Shaw, who he was certain watched everything without watching anything, the Gilnean king was not subtle about his scrutiny. It was exhilarating to know that the man would just as soon kill him, regardless of their shared goals. Saurfang hoped that they might have a chance to meet in battle one day, perhaps when the Banshee Queen had been defeated. Perhaps sooner.

When the king retired to his chambers Shaw and Greymane had lingered, and though neither spoke—to Saurfang or to one another—the message was clear: he was an unwelcome guest. A guard had dutifully escorted him back to his own room soon after, and for no other reason than as a courtesy to his host, Saurfang had made no move to frighten his attendant.

He had only been alone for a few minutes when he heard a quiet knock at the door. The grunt he returned was meant more as a deterrent than a welcome; he was considering whether to hang the bed and simply sleep on the stone floor when Anduin slipped inside the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

“Are you trying to keep from waking your pet dog?” Saurfang asked. He was examining the layers of soft blankets that covered the bed. Useless decoration. He turned slightly to smirk at his own humor, but when he caught sight of the king he froze, too stunned to say more.

Anduin stood just inside the doorway, beneath two drawn curtains which framed the arched exit like banners. He wore nothing but a robe, deep blue and embroidered in gold to match the rest of the castle’s finery. The belt had been untied, and the open front revealed an enticing stretch of pale skin that nearly glowed in the candlelight. One of his bare feet sat atop the other, and he toed at the top of his foot as he waited there, watching Saurfang watch him. He appeared so much more fragile than he had in the cell, when he had brazenly risked being broken; there was something powerful in both sides of the boy that Saurfang could not quite grasp, and it intrigued him.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted. He made no attempt to hide his desire for what was being offered.

The king swallowed. He made a vague and meaningless gesture. “Is the bed to your liking?”

Saurfang pushed on the pile of blankets and the plush mattress underneath. It was no wonder Alliance spines were so weak. “Too soft,” he muttered.

“Yes, well, I find them rather comfortable,” Anduin said, making sure to lock eyes with Saurfang as he said it. There was something meaningful in that gaze. “Perhaps you’ll grow accustomed to it.”

He could have reached out for the young king then, thrown him down onto the bed to make worthwhile use of its silken covers and plush pillows—something better than sleeping. He wanted to, but there was a gleam in Anduin’s eyes stayed him; he stood looming over the boy, breathing in his clean scent and learning the lines of his face as if for the first time. He didn’t look away even when Anduin reached for his arm, and he felt delicate fingers begin to unbuckle his bracer. One leather strap was undone, followed quickly by the second, and then the metal cuff came away in Anduin’s hand. It was set on a nearby table, and shortly after that the other was removed with just as much care as the first. All the while Saurfang watched closely as Anduin remained attentive to every detail, his blue eyes tracking the path of his fingers as they caressed the worn leather guards strapped to Saurfang’s elbows. Piece by piece he slowly removed the remaining armor until there was nothing left but the belt, boots, and worn tabard hanging over Saurfang’s chest.

When it came time to unbuckle the large leather and bone belt, Anduin moved around behind him, and Saurfang felt a tug at the heavy metal buckles that held it securely in place. With some effort it finally gave way, dropping to the stone floor with a clatter before Anduin retrieved it and placed it with the rest. Without the belt his tabard fell loose; Saurfang lifted it up over his head and tossed it somewhere out of sight. Once his back was bare and free of the trappings of battle he felt exposed, too open to the cold room and its low light. Then a small, warm hand came to rest between his shoulders, firm but soothing, as if reminding him that someone else was there. It was soon joined by another, and then Anduin’s palms were sliding over him as he moved from one side of Saurfang’s body to the other, mapping the deep scars and hills of muscle on his back, side, and finally his chest.

They stood facing one another, and this time it was Anduin whose eyes held throughout the ministrations of his fingers. He pulled roughly at the catch of Saurfang’s trousers. His mouth was set in a firm, determined line that dared a response when it refused to give, and Saurfang bit back on a smile. It finally came undone and Anduin paused only a few seconds before he slowly lowered himself to his knees, his fingers curling around the top and taking the worn leather with him inch by inch as he went. When the stiff length of Saurfang’s cock came free he heard the boy’s breath catch, and felt the light shiver that shook his hands.

Anduin remained on his knees while Saurfang stepped back out of his boots. His trousers were banished to whatever dark corner his tabard had gone. Only then did the king look away; two rows of dark lashes hid his eyes from view as he studied the thick shaft standing before him, and it took every ounce of Saurfang’s will not to take the boy by the back of the skull and hurry him along. Instead he waited, his nerves burning with need. Fortunately, the reward for his patience was swift—he felt soft lips brush the head first, followed by the tentative lick of the young king’s hot, wet tongue. With each second the boy grew bolder; he opened his mouth wide and took some of Saurfang’s length, holding it steady with a light hand wrapped around the base. He stroked it slowly while he made an admirable attempt to fit more into his mouth, but even determined as he was, it too much for him. When he moaned his frustration the sound vibrated through his throat, and Saurfang growled at the shock of sensation that lit through him. His hands were fisted at his sides, every instinct to take control held back, lest he risk harming the boy.

It wasn’t long before Anduin found a different way to achieve his desire, however. Soon his lips, tongue, and teeth were making their way down the underside of Saurfang’s cock, leaving wet trails as he nipped and licked from tip to base. He sucked at the tender flesh and made obscene sounds between each slow lap of his tongue. The light stroking continued, and beneath the robe that hung about his shoulders Saurfang could see Anduin’s other hand working furiously between his own legs.

Saurfang smirked. He ran his hand through the king’s blond hair until his fingers caught on the leather tie. It came loose, and a cascade of soft locks fell about his head. “Does it arouse you,” he asked, “to know that I speared you on that cock and claimed you as mine, and yet you can barely fit your hand around it?”

Anduin whined high in his throat and lifted himself up on his knees, getting closer and tightening his grip. The hand beneath his robe moved and stilled in turns, and it was clear he was fighting to keep from coming in his own hand.

The sight of the young king struggling to maintain control broke something in Saurfang. He pulled Anduin to his feet and shoved him toward the bed, and Anduin went without a fight, falling face-first on the mattress with the tail of his blue robe bunched at his waist. He lay on his stomach with his backside bare, his eyes gone dark and glassy as he looked back over his shoulder. Saurfang knelt behind him, bending the bed beneath his weight as he took the boy’s hips with one hand and prepared to enter him.

“Wait!” Anduin suddenly exclaimed. He wriggled out of Saurfang’s hold and flipped over onto his back. His hands dove into each of the pockets of the robe until he found something—a vial of some kind. “Use this?”

Saurfang took the small crystal vial and held it up to the light to inspect it. “What is it?” he asked, sneering.

“Silverleaf oil,” Anduin said. “I thought it might—”

With a smirk, Saurfang tossed it back to him. Anduin caught it awkwardly. “Use it.”

It took a moment, but the boy seemed to catch on quickly enough; he returned his own lopsided half-smile as he cast off the sleeves of his robe and pushed it aside. Leaning back he spread his legs, and Saurfang greedily took in the sight of the young king lying open and wanting before him, his smooth chest rising and falling rapidly as he failed to hide his anticipation. The bottle came unstoppered and Anduin tilted some of the contents into his hand; he reached down to take Saurfang’s length and rub the warm oil over him, spreading it over every inch until it dripped down the base of his shaft and onto the sheets, no doubt ruining them. Anduin groaned and bit his lip, and then he upended the bottle once more before letting himself fall back onto the bed again. Slowly he reached down between his own legs. It was a sight that seized Saurfang’s breath in his chest.

Anduin stared hard at the ceiling as he teased himself first, spreading the oil and leaving a mess of slick smeared across his skin. He made a choked sound and slipped first one finger inside, and then another. Saurfang was transfixed; he watched Anduin fit three fingers into himself, and listened to each quiet huff as he fought to keep control through his self-inflicted torment. It stirred something in Saurfang, and he liked it; without warning he dumped more of the oil over the boy’s fingers.

Anduin gasped, “What—?”

“Enough waiting,” Saurfang growled. He took Anduin’s backside and lifted him until his cock slotted against the well-slicked hole. Anduin’s arms had fallen to the bed and he braced himself, fingers twisted into the sheets.

Saurfang pushed into him slowly, burying himself in heat until he could go no further. He moved to grip the hips that lifted to meet his thrusts. Hours now had passed since his first hurried plunge into that bliss, but it was as if he had been deprived for years, and nothing else—not even Sylvanas and her war—mattered while he was wrapped within it. Anduin arched and his fingers clawed at Saurfang’s arms, and his short nails left lines that burned deliciously. Rather than pleading for mercy he hissed, “ _Yes,_ ” between his teeth, breathing it out on each exhale like a benediction. Saurfang drove deep and pulled back slowly, taking everything he was freely given and reveling in it. He let go of the king’s hips and took his ankles in each hand, holding his slender body open as he thrust into him. With Saurfang’s arms out of reach, Anduin instead clutched the bedsheets above his head with one hand, and covered his own mouth with the other. He cried out into his palm, the sound muffled but barely contained, filling the room with his ecstasy.

Each thrust forced a grunt from Saurfang’s chest as he fought to drive his cock deeper, desperate to feel every inch of Anduin’s body around him. He had always been a patient man; his will was iron, absolute. But he was rapidly nearing the limit of what pleasure he could endure before his control shattered and he simply plundered the boy. Some sense told him they both wanted that, but Saurfang also wanted something more; he wanted to bask in his conquest, to spend hours buried in this beautiful human king. His own excitement threatened to cut that short.

Anduin seemed to have no such concerns; he reached down and began stroking himself, his eyes squeezed shut, heedless of anything but his own need. He gasped and panted and tossed his head back as his fist moved in time with Saurfang’s thrusts. Each time his cock jerked and his body shuddered, causing him to clamp tight and drive Saurfang that much closer to the edge. It was agony in its pleasure.

With a roar Saurfang surged forward, folding Anduin at the waist until his knees were nearly touching the bed beside his chest. He received a surprised yelp, and then his cock pushed inside again, and Anduin’s objections melted into a groan as he yielded to Saurfang’s control. “I will take you like this every night,” Saurfang growled in his ear. “Fill you over and over, so that you never forget who you belong to.”

Anduin shook his head wildly, tossing his golden hair about his face. “I won’t,” he promised. He breathed hard and fast into the space between them. “Please,” he begged. “ _Please,_ I need—”

“You will have it, little king,” Saurfang assured him. He slammed his hips down and a loud crack echoed around the room as the frame of the bed gave. Anduin’s look of shock was almost as rewarding as his sudden cry when he came; he bent off the bed, shuddering through each pulse. At last he had nothing left to give, and he collapsed atop the mattress, limp and breathless. It was as thrilling to watch as it was to feel.

“ _Varok, please,_ ” Anduin whispered weakly. His eyes were closed, his delicate brow furrowed tight.

Saurfang made no effort to hide his surprise at the strange, almost tender reverence with which the boy had said his name. He held Anduin and buried his face in the side of his pale neck, breathing in the smell of his sweat. Climax took him hard when he felt answering arms close around his shoulders and pull him in tight. For a moment the very blood in his body was deafening in his veins, roaring through his skull as he let the boy take everything he had to give.

When it was over and the pounding of his blood had slowed, he remained there until he could count the time between heartbeats again. Sated, Saurfang rumbled a satisfied growl into Anduin’s neck and nipped the soft skin there, careful to avoid scratching him with his fangs. He could barely bring himself to sit up and pull out again, but it would do neither of them any favors to stay as they were.

He made to move away, only to find Anduin was looking up at him with glassy eyes that seemed to dance in the candlelight. The young king was flushed, filthy, and glowing with satisfaction. He reached toward Saurfang, only to suddenly freeze. His eyes flew wide.

The warmth between them was shattered by the force of a mountain hurling itself into Saurfang from behind, throwing him off the bed. He crashed into the far wall, and before he could find his footing another blow struck him from the side, this time accompanied by a flurry of savage claws. “Vile beast!” came a harsh and familiar roar. A flash of grey fur and glowing eyes filled his vision as the worgen king lunged again. “I’ll have your head for this!”

In that brief lull Saurfang was finally able to get his bearings. He shook off the dust and cracked stone that had fallen upon him, and as Greymane reared back to strike again, he acted: one hand caught the claws that came down to slash him, and the other swung upward, slamming into Greymane’s jaw and sending him reeling. The attack only bought him seconds before the wolf was back, jaws snapping and claws closing around anything they could reach. Saurfang clasped his fingers together and brought both fists down on the back of Greymane’s neck when the Gilnean king missed a swing, and the worgen hit the ground in a satisfying heap.

But that did not last. Greymane was quick, and deceptively strong; he rolled to his back and brought his legs up in a powerful kick, and this time it was Saurfang who was thrown, naked and undefended, to the floor.

“Enough, both of you!” Anduin shouted, but neither warrior heeded him. Saurfang grabbed the leg of a nearby table and swung it at Greymane. It missed, and Greymane returned with another swipe of his claws that caught Saurfang’s shoulder.

“I said to _stop!_ ”

All action ceased at once. Saurfang, who had managed to gain his feet by then, found his own fists could not connect with Greymane. Likewise, Greymane appeared almost comically confused by the abrupt halt to their battle. It quickly became clear what had stopped them: two identical, barely perceptible barriers had been erected around them. At an angle the gold light cast a slight shimmer over the two men.

Greymane turned to Anduin, who—some time during the melee, Saurfang supposed—had clothed himself in his robe again. The belt was tied this time. “Anduin, my boy, are you alright?” Greymane asked.

“I’m fine, Genn.” He held up a hand to stop the objection already forming on the other king’s lips. “I am _fine_. This isn’t what it looks like.”

Saurfang suppressed a conceited smirk and made a show of looking down at his bare body, then back up at Anduin.

“It’s not _exactly_ what it looks like,” Anduin corrected.

“Did he hurt you?” Greymane asked again.

Anduin shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “Nothing happened here that I did not want.”

That, perhaps more than what he had already seen, shook the old wolf. He transformed back into his human guise. The seams of his long coat were stretched and torn, and there were rips in his other clothes that had nothing to do with their brief battle. The barrier around him dropped, and he stepped closer to the king. “Anduin, what are you saying?”

A swell of pride lifted Saurfang’s shoulders as he watched Anduin face his mentor confidently, and without hesitation. He was a good head shorter than the Gilnean, but it didn’t seem to occur to either of them at that moment. Surprising even Saurfang, Anduin lifted his chin a fraction and said, “It isn’t the first time.” He paused, swallowed. “And it won’t be the last.”

“My boy, you—have you any idea what you’re saying?” Greymane whispered. “He is the _enemy_.”

“Not today. Perhaps someday, but…” Anduin’s attention had wandered to the floor, and his bare feet. Saurfang followed his eyes down; there were large, livid bruises on his wrists from their encounter in the Stockade, and the skin of his ankles and one side of his neck was red. When he looked up again he seemed to have brushed all of that aside, however. His gaze was fierce and determined as he stared between them. “I’m going to return to my chambers now,” he said. “I expect not to have to call the guards to deal with the two of you.”

It took several seconds, but Greymane finally nodded his assent, dipping his head slightly in an informal bow. He cast a lingering and poisonous look at Saurfang before striding from the room with his long coat whipping behind him.

When they were alone again Anduin relaxed. He took a deep breath and let it out again. “This will not be easy to explain,” he muttered.

“Then don’t,” Saurfang said.

Anduin shook his head. “It’s not that simple.” He frowned and sighed through his nose, and for a moment he looked entirely lost. It was a feeling Saurfang himself found all too familiar. “Genn will never accept this.”

“Doesn’t need to. You’re king.”

“And he is very important to me.” Anduin made a frustrated sound and waved a hand as if to dismiss the issue. “I’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow,” he announced—more to himself than Saurfang, it seemed. “It has been a _very_ long day.”

Saurfang chuckled at that; something about the boy’s tired resignation was oddly endearing. Even more so, knowing he had stared down his mentor with Saurfang’s handprints bruised into his flesh and his body sore and aching was exhilarating. If allowed to, he knew that he would forget his worries between the young king’s legs without hesitation. Without care for what it might mean.

Perhaps, then, it was best that they observed some measure of restraint; despite his eagerness, Saurfang was keenly aware of how precarious his circumstances were, and how easily he could lose everything. Nor had he forgotten the failures that brought him to where he was—though he had come to be in far better company than he deserved. It was an uncertain path he walked, and he suddenly found himself torn in two directions where there had been only one before. Worse, each one presented its own perils and rewards.

And some rewards were harder to ignore.

“Sleep soundly,” he said, hesitating before he added, “Anduin.”

Anduin’s attention had wandered to the chaos around the room, but his eyes quickly snapped back the moment he heard his name. He seemed to hesitate, leaning slightly as though he wanted to move, only to remain frozen to the spot. Finally he shook off whatever was holding him and stepped in close, his head only chest-high to Saurfang. He took one large hand in his and turned it over, exposing the wrist that would normally be covered by sturdy plate. With his fingertips he brushed the place where the green skin should have been marked by his nails, but no trace of the welts had ever shown. Understanding and surprise lifted Saurfang’s brow; the boy was powerful— _and_ clever.

“Goodnight,” Anduin said, placing a tender kiss where his fingers had been. “Varok.”

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations to Silverleaf for being the plant with the least potential to cause drastic side effects when turned into a lubricant.
> 
> (You guys are all awesome, by the way. This has been so much fun and I can't wait to do more! And yes, as of January 5th, I am still working on the next part of what has apparently become a series.)


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